


Memento

by brynserker (hezzabeam)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, basically a lot of musing and projecting, it's fine tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hezzabeam/pseuds/brynserker
Summary: Brynhildr thinks about summer and the only person she would like to spend it with.
Relationships: Brynhildr | Lancer/Sigurd | Saber
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

> I guess you could call this a study. I thought it would be neat to write Brynhildr being excited to finally spend a summer with Sigurd, I love these two so much and ever since their summer versions dropped I had been wanting to write something with them. Please enjoy, even if this wasn't beta'd.

She had grown tired of waiting.

Three summers came and went. She never felt the need to take part in the festivities since there had never been a reason to. Summer was not the same to her without him. Not since that first time he rode through the impenetrable flames for her, not since he freed her from her slumber that Odin placed her in, not since she opened her eyes for the first time in ages, and was greeted by those piercing yet gentle eyes had she a reason to celebrate without him. She could never forget the eyes of the hero worthy of her affection. Eyes that were worthy of a reward from defeating the dragon Fafnir, imbued with pure wisdom. 

That summer she had come to know the man as Sigurd, and tragedy followed them.

That fourth summer in Las Vegas gave her a taste of what she desired. While she and Sigurd had spent time together briefly, it came and went, then left her longing for more. They both wanted more but she knew if they spent any more time together, death might fall upon Sigurd again by her hand. She had to do something. The wait had been long enough, she had been here since Chaldea’s first summer mishap. This time, she wanted a full vacation with her beloved, right down to the two of them altering their saint graphs if they must. This year, she would make it theirs.

Brynhildr had been pacing back and forth through the halls of Chaldea until she felt what was close to exhaustion from what she could remember experiencing when she was a physical entity. When she could no longer stand, she would take on her spirit form to recover.

Scathach had been the one altering most of the servants’ saint graphs for the past few years. She could have asked her, but could she trust her to alter it to her liking? Did she even possess the ability to construct the type of saint graph she had in mind with the very runes that her own father brought to the people? No, this was something she had to do herself. She didn’t just want summer appropriate attire, she wanted to seal the drive to kill Sigurd to the best of her abilities. That was something she had to accomplish on her own.

It was just like that time she slept, engulfed in flames and her cage forged from the finest chain mail, as she waited and recharged until the time was right. Her master was away, they rarely called for her due to how unstable she could be at times when Sigurd wasn’t nearby and even more so when he was nearby. She had actually sent Sigurd off to accompany Master, insisting that she would await his return. He had been hesitant to leave her, how she adored him for the way he would show concern for her, but she simply kissed him and sent him off with her blessing. She would be fine, she would be more than fine, and she could not wait to see Sigurd again when he returned.

After resting for what felt like another eternity, it was time to get to work.

She closed her eyes and focused, picturing blue flames engulfing her until she thought she might burn away with them until a vision came to her. Tyr himself and the sword that had been crafted for him, a sword that she could summon but could ultimately not use, her other half wielding it for a wedding that never happened. A wedding that wasn’t  _ supposed _ to happen but by all odds, Brynhildr could feel it coming true. She could feel it in the flames and in the way her body shifted. Something clicked, and then everything went black.

Whispers, maddening whispers that wouldn’t get out of her head, were what woke her. She stood and felt lighter, cooler, like she could dance. Even though her head was full of fog and voices that did not belong to her, they were almost preferable to the one voice that definitely was hers when she was a lancer. At least these voices spoke in tongues she couldn’t recognize. As a lancer, that one single solitary voice that belonged to her only ever had one thing to say.

The immediate need to kill Sigurd was nearly gone, lost to the cacophony of voices. What used to be a roaring flame was now but a tiny ember that flickered in and out of existence.   
  
If she was hearing voices, she must have been like the very warriors she used to grant victory to on the battlefield. She was now a berserker class servant like they had been. Something tickled at her wrists and she gazed down at them through a pair of glasses that weren’t there before, they had been decorated with bands adorned in purple and blue feathers. More feathery flowers decorated her shoulder and she could see that her attire had changed completely. She had done it, she had altered her saint graph to be summer appropriate.

The real test was seeing if her urges to kill Sigurd had really truly been sealed. For now, she searched for the nearest reflective surface in the room to examine how she looked.

Eventually she found the floor length mirror in the room and as she gazed upon it, her lips parted in shock at the sight of her new appearance. A sheer, soft robe draped elegantly over her white two piece swimsuit which she experimentally lifted, feeling the material in her fingers before letting it go and watching it lazily float toward the ground. Her hair had also been tied back and she shook her head, feeling the weight of it wag behind her. As she shook her head, her violet eyes landed on a familiar set of daggers around her waist and she stopped as she ghosted her fingers over them, these were the same ones that Sigurd had given her so long ago.

As she looked over the daggers, she spotted a ring on her finger and lifted her hand again, this time closer to her face to examine the ring.

It was not the cursed ring Sigurd had given her in life, no, but a proper wedding ring this time, and it shimmered beautifully in the low light of the remaining blue flames that surrounded her.

She could have cried tears of joy right there that she had forgotten all about the swimsuit. Just having a memento of Sigurd on her was enough and she nearly fell to her knees and wept with joy.

* * *

“It’s alright.”

Where was she?

“Please open your eyes, my beloved.”

Blood.

The smell of blood, Sigurd’s blood.

She had done it again, hadn’t she? She had gone for so long without killing him too, their time at the cabin had been so pleasant, she didn’t want it to end here. She thought she might panic, might become sick if possible, might go mad just as she had the very first time she killed him. Her breath would quicken and she would break out into horrifyingly uncontrollable laughter as tears stained her eyes, and--- and-

And yet, none of that happened because she awoke with her hero’s hands cradling hers, calming any sort of madness that threatened to break and the barely present curse that filled her head until she thought it might burst. Even though they were soaked in blood because of her, he held her close. He had truly come back to life again, just as he said he would. He looked so handsome in the casual outfit she helped him pick out, the blue scarf and the way he styled his hair were especially striking on him and it only made his smile brighter yet.

She let go of his hand to brush her fingers over the scarring that formed on his chest and peaked out of his unbuttoned shirt. They were scars caused by her, scars that mapped along his body towards his burning yet still beating heart she once pierced, and she could not keep her eyes off of the way it glowed under the black fabric of his newly blood soaked clothes. This was her doing and yet it bothered him not.

“My love, why don’t we get cleaned up and then get started on breakfast?” He calmly asked as he steadied her to her feet, she almost questioned if she really had killed him with the way he seemed to just ignore what happened despite the mess they made of themselves.

A calmer, gentler love welled within her this time as he kept her hands in his, her heart soaring with affection as he smiled down at her again through the blood staining his face. Her gaze met his, and happy tears stained the corner of her eyes.  


“I’d love nothing more than that.” She smiled back, something she had done more this summer than she had in her entire life. “Let’s go, Sigurd.”


End file.
